


maybe my time has come

by homsantoft (tofsla)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sexual Content, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4151448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/homsantoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"A match," Dorian said. His white robes were spotless; in the sunlight outside he would be brilliant, blinding. On his back he bore a new staff, twisted metal glinting gold, and he smiled at the Bull, chin up, play-acting the haughty prince. "I demand satisfaction."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You're feeling better, then," the Bull said, grinning up at him.</em>
</p><p>In which Dorian and Bull fight and fuck and enjoy both hugely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe my time has come

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll just write some porn quickly," I said, and then made the mistake of thinking too hard about how to set it up. Thanks to Bri for help and encouragement with developing the scenario, and to Kay for prodding around and helping me clean it up!

It had been a late return from Western Orlais, and the Bull had cleaned up and fallen straight into bed, slept solidly and alone until the sun was near its zenith and rose feeling rested, restless, full of thoughts of Dorian.

He didn't have to go looking. He'd barely finished eating when Dorian found him, and the Bull, looking at him, so gorgeous and desired, thought: well, then, now I'm home.

"A match," Dorian said. His white robes were spotless; in the sunlight outside he would be brilliant, blinding. On his back he bore a new staff, twisted metal glinting gold, and he smiled at the Bull, chin up, play-acting the haughty prince. "I demand satisfaction."

"You're feeling better, then," the Bull said, grinning up at him. "You sure you can take me? You're only just out of your convalescence, I hear."

Dorian laughed. "That's a very big word. And you should know I can _always_ take you."

The wicked tease in the words was promising. So was the look Dorian gave him, knowing and hot, that smile still playing around the corners of his mouth. The Bull allowed himself a growl of satisfaction, just to appreciate the way Dorian's breath caught.

"We fought a dragon without you," he said. "It was— _fuck,_ it was hot. You should've been there. I would've—"

"Bull," Dorian said, firmly, "don't push your luck." 

"Yeah, alright." The Bull shrugged easily. "Can't blame a man."

"No, I suppose I can't," Dorian said. "I can't say I'm sorry to have missed your dragon, but I did miss—well."

"Aw, you missed _me_ ," the Bull said. The heat of it unfurled in the pit of his stomach, threatened to spread to his cock. To his chest.

"I'm sure I don't know why," Dorian said, and the words were very soft. He swallowed. The Bull watched his throat move, and wanted to kiss it. Dorian seemed to feel his interest—and why not? He wasn't hiding it. 

"A match," Dorian said again. "Please."

"You know I'm always up for it," the Bull said, and where Dorian would once have groaned he now laughed, clear and bright.

"Come on then, you hopeless deviant," he said, "before someone else takes the sparring ring."

Dorian was really in high spirits, seemed as full of excess energy as the Bull felt. His bow was formal and elaborate, Tevinter all over, needling for the benefit of the small crowd of spectators more than the Bull.

"Damn showoff," the Bull said.

"I'll show off more than that," Dorian said, and, after a beat, "at your pleasure."

It could nominally be taken as a separate phrase, by a charitable listener. Oh, yeah, high spirits for sure. Good. He'd left Dorian dejected and nursing a stubborn set of arm injuries too many weeks ago, and missed him daily since, and felt unreasonable every time. And now here he was.

The Bull tested the balance of his sword, the weight of it. Dorian's staff flared to life in his hands.

"Right," the Bull said. "Right. Let's _go._ "

Dorian raised his hands on high, and brought the staff down sharply to the ground, lightning cracking through the air. Show, again, so that the crowd would pay less attention to the softer sigh of power that was Dorian twisting the veil around both of them for safety.

Like that, then.

The Bull charged, and Dorian twisted away with unnatural speed, and it was on—a sharp-edged kind of play, harsh and rough and fucking perfect, sending the Bull's pulse racing. 

It would be a mistake to think that Dorian putting on a show meant that he wasn't taking the thing seriously. He fought with everything he had. Lightning from a clear sky, a flare of burning heat over chilled skin.

He was gorgeous, the Bull thought again; thought about dragons, about the Storm Coast, the crackling flex of the throat before the exhale, raw and uncontrolled. But Dorian was all control in this as he struggled to be elsewhere. Here, he shed his doubts.

Duck and weave. The Bull fought to connect, and Dorian fought to knock him back; fire rolled over his shoulder, a distraction from the low sweep of Dorian's staff, aiming to trip him. He stumbled, and recovered, swinging even as he found his feet, felt his blade slide off Dorian's barrier. It would only have been a glancing blow. But a blow all the same.

Dorian swore, and the Bull went tumbling back from the sheer force of his will, thrown by the sudden weight of the air. Lightning caught him as he was lumbering back to his feet, taking the control of his muscles from him for a moment and sending him sprawling again. He had to roll to avoid the sharp edge of Dorian's staff blade, felt it thud into the earth beside his ear.

They stared at one another, panting.

The Bull, damningly, was already half-way hard.

But a fight was a fight, and a moment was all he needed. He kicked out hard, knocking Dorian's feet from under him; struggled inelegantly back up as Dorian went down, swung for him and struck nothing.

"I don't think you're taking me quite seriously," Dorian said, from just behind him, and the Bull swung back, pommel first, aiming to catch Dorian hard in the shoulder.

It nearly worked, but one of Dorian's strengths had always been his speed, and although the Bull connected Dorian managed to twist away from the worst of the impact, and fell back out of the Bull's reach, watchful, taking stock of the Bull's state, his own strength.

Their audience had grown, although they were for the most part keeping a healthy distance from the fence. Sera and Harding watched from the roof outside Sera's window. Jana, apparently unconcerned for her own safety, was the only person leaning against the fence of the ring. Fair. She could flatten either of them.

The Bull nodded to her, and used Dorian's moment of distraction to swing for him again. It was enough to land him a blow, down onto the shoulder. It'd bruise, barrier or no barrier. Dorian staggered, but kept his footing.

"Who's not taking who seriously?" the Bull said. The heaviness of his breathing lent a growl to the words. Not bad. Dorian's lips parted pleasingly, and he was looking flushed.

"Oh," Dorian said, smiled a flirtatious smile, "I always take you seriously," and by the time the Bull realised his mistake the ground under his feet had already burst into flame, sending him stumbling backwards, off-balance, until he fell.

Dorian didn't waste his advantage, swung forward and down hard with his staff, flame following his movements as though it knew its master, like he'd stepped out of a fucking legend.

He jerked to an unsteady halt with the tip of his blade at the Bull's throat.

"Fuck," the Bull gasped, let his head fall back, horns to the ground. The movement scratched the blade-tip over his skin, and that sent fire spiraling through him all over again, the other kind, the kind that made him _want_ —"Yield," he said, because although there might be a way out, it wasn't more battle he needed right now, not with Dorian staring down at him with that incredible expression on his face.

"Hmm," Dorian said. There was laughter around his eyes again, even through the intensity of the moment. "Very well. Am I the sort of evil Tevinter who has mercy on his prisoners or not, do you think?"

It was Jana clapping that seemed to remind Dorian of their audience; he did not startle, but the Bull saw the tension tighten his arms for a moment before he straightened and smiled over at her, staff flicked away from the Bull's throat as Dorian took a step away to bow again for her.

"Oh beloved Herald," he said, "do I meet with your approval?"

"You seem to meet with his," she said, and jerked her head in the Bull's direction as he hauled himself up and brushed himself down.

"You have no idea," the Bull said.

"I don't want to have any idea, my friend," she said, and grinned. "Fight me sometime. _I_ won't set you on fire."

The Bull loved her dearly, and would follow her short arse through another damn army of demons if the need arose, and had a healthy respect both for her tactical skill and her fondness for going for the kneecaps. He was also nowhere near coming down from the rush of the fight. The heat of it still had him in his hold, and he needed, needed, needed to be somewhere else.

"Sure, boss," he said. "Some other time. Pretty busy right now."

" _Thank_ you, Bull, for announcing your intent to everyone in the yard," Dorian said, but his exasperation was overplayed, a habitual performance. How he'd relaxed. "Yes, yes, I'm coming, do have patience."

"After that show?" the Bull said. "No way. You showing off in front of all those people—shit, you've gotten good. All that power."

Jana laughed, and rolled her eyes, and let them go. It was hard to say which of them was in more of a hurry. All that excess energy Dorian had seemed to carry with him earlier was still there, even though he was sweaty from exertion; he took quick strides towards the Herald's Rest, and he let his hand brush against the Bull's as he went, as though it were an accidental touch. 

"Damn, I missed you," the Bull said, as soon as they'd managed to get a closed door between them and all the knowing looks that had followed them through the yard and the tavern. " _Damn_. That _fire_. You could've fucked me right there in the ring, taken me in front of everyone and let them see you claim me. I wouldn't have said no."

The noise Dorian made was strangled. His breathing had turned unsteady again. 

He pulled the Bull down by the horn for a fierce kiss, moaned against his lips.

"You should fuck me now," the Bull said, when they parted, his forehead still pressed to Dorian's. "I want to feel your cock in me. You're magnificent."

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said, and the Bull got to feel Dorian's hands fumble as he tried to undo the Bull's harness. The Bull kissed him again. He was so hard against the Bull's thigh. "Really? You—really?"

The fact of the matter was this: Dorian loved to be fucked, loved the feeling of the Bull's cock in him, clutched at the sheets and moaned and begged for it, and that was _incredible,_ and the Bull was more than happy to oblige. But Dorian had talked to him, too, about what a relationship might look like—about needs and desires and things going both ways. _You need things too. I refuse to let you simply use yourself for me._ Difficult. He didn't often want things in such a specific way.

But he wanted this now. All Dorian's will turned to another end, all his focus on the Bull for a while longer. Those long fingers opening him up, the steady intimate push of Dorian into him. Filling him.

"Really," the Bull said, emphatic and reverent, and Dorian shuddered against him. "If you're up for it."

"Yes," Dorian said, and his voice had turned hushed. "Oh, yes. I can do that."

It was a scramble to get out of their clothes, their progress hindered by an inability to stop touching, by Dorian's apparently overwhelming need to keep kissing the Bull, on the lips, on the neck. On the shoulder as he finally managed to pull the Bull's harness loose, and on the lips again. Deep and tender, despite the urgency in Dorian's movements.

"Come on," the Bull said, trying to tug at the last of Dorian's buckles, "hey, work with me here, would you?" and Dorian finally managed to collect himself enough to get his arm out the way, went pliant under the Bull's hands, allowing himself the pleasure of being stripped bare, of the press of the Bull's fingers against his skin.

"Gorgeous," the Bull said, because it was true, and to see the way it made Dorian gasp, his eyes fluttering shut. "That's it. There you go."

Dorian took a deep breath, and opened hazy eyes to stare up at the Bull. "On your back on the bed, then, if you please," he said, and the Bull obeyed.

Something new between them. Dorian, kneeling between the Bull's knees, hands smoothing up the insides of his thighs, looked awestruck. "You've done this before, of course," he said. Conversations about harnesses and leather-wrapped rods late at night in the tavern. How scandalised Dorian had played at being. "How long has it been?"

"Too damn long," the Bull said. "Shit, I need this. Do you have any idea how you look today—"

The fingers of Dorian's left hand tightened possessively against his leg. He stretched out his right, and touched the Bull's cock, dragged his fingers down it slowly, just the tips, head to balls. A strangely contemplative gesture. The Bull groaned.

Dorian seemed, for once, at a loss for words.

"I missed you," he said softly at last. He'd admitted as much earlier by lack of denial. This felt larger. "I felt less myself in your absence. I don't know why it should be so." He sounded lost. An admission of weakness.

"Hey," the Bull said. "I'm here."

Dorian smiled. "Yes. I suppose you are." He took the bottle the Bull passed him without comment. A little oil in the palm of his hand to warm. "Legs wider, please."

His fingers pressed slick against the Bull's hole, but there was no intrusion, just a gentle pressure. Dorian rubbed small circles there, pressed up behind his balls, over his hole again. Bull pressed down into it, tilted his hips, spreading himself for Dorian. It wasn't easy to keep his head from rolling back against the pillows, but he wanted to see Dorian's face clearly, all that concentration, fascination, arousal.

" _Bull,_ " Dorian said. "Bull, Bull—" His finger was pushing into the Bull now, finally, teasingly slow. He bent to kiss the Bull's stomach, lips pressed chastely to soft skin, and the Bull, aching and turned on and desperate to be filled, still found it in himself to think: it's love, then. This is it. 

Of course he'd known it already, had known it for months. But it was nothing more abstract or poetic than this: the clench in his chest at a simple gesture of affection, even in the middle of sex. The knowledge that he wanted to feel it again and again.

"Give me more," he said, and his voice came out hoarse, broke on a moan as Dorian did. Stretch and press and the curl of his fingers deep inside the Bull, the sparks that flew through him at that particular pressure, as though Dorian had sent lightning through him now again. More and more.

How long since he gave himself over to someone else, let go of his own control and submitted to pleasure? It had been longer ago than the last time someone had had their fingers in his ass, for sure. Years on years. He had been Hissrad then and when they were done with him he had walked away without ties to them.

To let go like this—possibly he'd never done it before. Had anyone wanted to take care of him like this? If so, he hadn't known. Wouldn't have wanted it, thought it a bad joke.

His cock was leaking, leaving dampness smeared across his stomach. 

Dorian bent forward over him again, and kissed him there too, absurd and sweet and hot as hell. The Bull's cock rested against his cheek, and he turned his face to it, another kiss to the shaft, then to the head. He licked his lips, moaned softly, the sound seeming to vibrate through the Bull's entire body, turning his breathing ragged.

"Fuck me," the Bull said. "That's enough, I want your cock in me, you're so fucking hot—"

Dorian laughed, lost it to a moan as he hurried to slick himself up. "Flatterer," he said, breathless, and then, "oh—Bull—"

The Bull grunted, bore down to take him, hands clenching and twisting in the sheets. Dorian's hands pushed at his thighs, up and apart, spread him and held him there. 

He seemed unable to look away from the Bull's face.

They settled together, Dorian's hips pressed close against him, his cock—his cock—

By Qunari standards Dorian wasn't anywhere near big, for all he was pleasingly sturdy for a human. But the Bull hadn't been lying when he said it'd been a long time, and besides, Dorian was the one who was obsessed with size. There was an incredible satisfaction to the stretch and fullness, and he let himself sink into the feeling, groaned his pleasure, "oh, yeah, that's it, yeah, like that, shit, you're so good—feels so good—"

"You just can't help pushing, can you," Dorian said, smiling.

The Bull laughed, groaned as Dorian rolled his hips slowly. "You're one to talk," he said.

Dorian rolled his hips again, and bit his lip, the way he did when he could hardly stand not being able to kiss, and heat expanded in the Bull's chest. 

He brought his hand up to Dorian's face, and Dorian leaned forward into it, pressed kisses to the palm, to the tips of the Bull's fingers; sucked them briefly into his mouth, tongued at them. Began finally to move with a steady rhythm, the slide of his cock slow and smooth. The Bull's hand dragged down his throat to feel all the little noises he always made that were too quiet to hear, came to rest against Dorian's chest, over the heart.

"Touch yourself," Dorian said, "I want to see you touch yourself as I fuck you," and the Bull cursed, moaned as he obeyed, closing his hand loosely around his cock and letting Dorian's thrusts do most of the work for him, not enough to get off quickly, but enough to keep the pleasure of it all building. Teased at the head of his cock with his thumb, spread his fingers to brush against his balls. Dorian was moaning louder now, open appreciation of the Bull's display. His nails dug into the Bull's thighs, and that was damned good too, a sharp counterpoint to the rest of it as they rocked together.

"Harder," the Bull said, and Dorian's hips jerked unsteadily. He pushed the Bull up a little, struggling with the bulk of him, but got a better angle for his trouble, startling a loud groan from both of them, then laughter at the ridiculousness of it, and then groans again as Dorian started moving properly. 

The Bull tightened his hand around his cock, let the tingling twisting beginning of his release build inside him, drew it out, torn between getting off and staying in the slow build of it, the decadent pleasure of the thing, Dorian in him and over him, making the most incredible faces, always, always.

"I want," Dorian said, urgent, "I want to feel you come while I'm in you—Bull—"

Dorian must be close himself. He looked intently focused, his lips parted, face thoroughly flushed. The Bull kept his eye on him, brought himself off in a few rough strokes. His release came hard and drawn out, and everything he could see and feel was Dorian, Dorian—

" _Oh,_ " Dorian said. The Bull, wrung out as he was feeling, still had the presence of mind to clamp down hard around him, and Dorian came with a long groan, the pulse of his orgasm sparking aftershocks through the Bull.

For a moment, Dorian seemed not to even remember he could move. He was slumped forward over the Bull, head bowed. His breath still came in tiny gasps. Against the Bull's thighs, his arms trembled. The Bull's thighs were pretty close to trembling too, if it came to that.

The Bull reached up to stroke the damp mess of his hair back from his face, and he sighed with it, pulled carefully out, let the Bull's legs sink back to the bed.

"I'll clean up," Dorian said, and didn't move to go, just untangled himself and settled his weight forward, heavy and warm and comfortable between the Bull's legs, across his stomach, careless for once of the mess. "Just—a moment." 

"Come here instead," the Bull said, remembering the longing, earlier, on Dorian's face. A kiss. He could use one himself; wanted, against everything he'd been taught was true, that sort of tenderness and comfort. To linger. For Dorian most of all, but also, more surprisingly, for himself.

To give someone what they needed when what they needed was love was a complicated thing. He had not known he could do it, before. But here it was: the thing Dorian had thought he couldn't have, and the Bull, able to give it. Dorian, fierce and bright in battle, emphatic in argument, flippant about what he couldn't change but full of care all the same. Eager under the Bull, begging for more and more. Focused and intent in bringing the Bull pleasure. Always a challenge. 

A wonder.

Dorian settled over him again, the full weight of his body against the Bull's chest. Slow, messy kisses, their lips hardly parting between. 

"You're going to ruin the sheets if you keep me like this," Dorian murmured, and it was absolutely true.

"Stay a while longer anyway," the Bull said, and kissed him again, and Dorian smiled into it, muffled laughter, a little drowsy. Stayed, luxuriating in the simple contact between them; dozed off and woke and kissed the Bull again, deep and tender, his whole body relaxed into it.


End file.
